


Captain MacIntyre of Clitheroe

by Clitheroe



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Auld Alliance, Dragons - Alternate Universe, Gen, Great Britain, M/M, Napoleonic Era - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5676268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clitheroe/pseuds/Clitheroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory couldn't imagine a life without Clitheroe... even if it meant less headaches and impromptu french lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain MacIntyre of Clitheroe

It had been in a small covert, deserted bar for a few courier dragons, that Gregory happened upon the man. The man had been busily attending to the needs of his dragon, his back turned to him.

It had lightened his heart to see how the man cooed to his dragon with pet names that didn’t quite befit a being the size of a small cottage. Nevertheless the dragon preened under such praise, nudging his captain with his wide nuzzle. 

‘Gregory… who are they?” 

His own dragon, a Winchester named Clitheroe, had perked up at the sight of company, his snout pressing into the small of Gregory’s back to push him forward.

“They’re French,” he had hissed, having picked up the gist of the conversation from his less than ideal French. “I can’t just walk up to an enemy…”

This admonishment tugged at Gregory even before he had felt Clitheroe shrink away at the harsh words… “But perhaps I can call upon them… perhaps they know of a farm willing to part with a healthy yew.” His dragon had not grown used to the change in his diet, a mixture of porridge and off cuts of beef, and had taken to looking for every opportunity to improve upon his diet

He had reached out an affectionate hand to reassure him before making the first few tentative steps towards the man. 

“Bonjour. I am Captain MacIntyre of Clitheroe.” 

His French had been acquired through drinking sessions with other couriers, before the conquests of Napoleon had truly started and was rough at best. His French was much more suited to cheeky insults thrown over a hand of cards, than an approach of friendship under such strenuous circumstances. 

The aviator and his dragon turned with the interruption, the aviator placing a cloth on the edge of his bucket. His hand had gone to his hilt as he had straightened up, regarding Gregory with a cool levelled gaze. 

“Captain Bonnefoy of Tolbiac.”

He had left his introduction simple, watching Gregory cautiously as his fingers had twitched around steel. One wrong step and they would be sparring. Gregory had relaxed in contrast, keeping his hands in view as he decided that any reply at all was a good thing. 

“I don’t imagine you’d be willing to tell us where we might find a farm willing to part with some livestock?”

It was indeed odd for couriers to approach each other, more prone to keep to themselves during times of war unless they flew colours of allied nations. Gregory had taken a risk… one unbefitting of an aviator, to please Clitheroe. If he was injured, or worse captured, his fellow aviators would brand him a fool.

The French dragon had peered over Captain Bonnefoy’s shoulder, a Pascal Blue, who had coldly regarded him before turning to his captain. 

“Look at how he is dressed. How can his dragon stand by him in such a state.”

The comment had caused Gregory to flush greatly, his gaze falling to his own clothes, worn with travel and indeed torn at the edges. Nonetheless, he had doubted that mattered much to Clitheroe. Or so he had thought.

“How dare you insult my captain in such a blatant way. He may not dress well, but I am more than certain that he makes up for that in how pleasing his face and body is. Even if his hair is not spun of gold…” There had been a tinge of envy in those words, even as Clitheroe had continued, “Gregory’s hair shines in the sunlight like rubies. It is why I choose him.” Clitheroe had wrapped a protective tail around Gregory, the tip twitching with agitation despite the fact he had encouraged the whole thing. 

The horror at being the topic of such a debate, and apparently having shamed his dragon for so long had been a blow to Gregory’s pride as an aviator. Yet, Clitheroe, blissfully unaware, had only added fuel to the fire, “It is not as though Gregory couldn’t afford better clothes. He simply chooses to spend his money feeding me and putting money into shares, which he has assured me is the best place they can be invested into.”

Clitheroe had held his head high, even as Gregory had felt himself sinking into the ground in utter despair and embarrassment. “Hold yer wheest, ye blasted eejit.” Gregory had admonished, swatting his hyde as he slipped back into English. It had been an attempt to recover what little face he had coming into this encounter. 

He had chanced a glance towards the frenchmen, having forgotten for a moment his precarious position. However, Captain Bonnefoy had seemed to thawed in the face of the exchange, if the smile which tugged at his lips had been anything to go by. “Oh dear… it seems as though you certainly have your hands full there, Captain MacIntyre.” 

The man rakes an appraising eye over him, “Yet I can’t argue with Clitheroe… you do have a certain, roughish, charm.” The Pascal Blue snorts, nudging his captain to draw his attention back, an edge of possessive jealously in the action. “There is a farm only a ten minute flight from here that has a handsome flock of recently sheered sheep. I am sure it can’t compare to Scottish mutton… but it should suffice,” he had advised, turning his back to Gregory as he endeavoured to calm his own dragon. Tolbiac had been outraged at the fact his own captain had deemed Gregory worthy of such attention, if the whispered protests were anything to go by.

At Clitheroe’s prodding he had managed to muster out a hasty merci, heat creeping up his neck and colouring his ears as he processed the blatant flirtation. “Gregory… hurry. Mutton is so much better than this porridge they are forcing upon us as of late.” Clitheroe had already begun nudging him towards his flank and Gregory’s hands had automatically reached up to pull himself up onto Clitheroe’s back. He had clipped himself in, the snap of his carabiner preceding the stomach lurching leap into the air. The air had rushed past, raking through his hair and stinging at his ears as they made quick time towards the promised farm, gaining height as quickly as they gained ground. 

“Clitheroe…” Gregory had begun, unsure if he even wanted to start this particular line of questioning. It seemed to be inviting a whole new plethora of issues… and headaches. “Surely you don’t mind the way I dress… right?” 

His dragon had glanced back, serpentine neck curving to gauge Gregory’s reaction. “Well I had been meaning to mention it to you… if the opportunity ever arose…”

**Author's Note:**

> These are two fandoms that I hold very close to my heart. 
> 
> I would love to hear what you think and if you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them.


End file.
